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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30014058">Rescue Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/105NorthTower/pseuds/105NorthTower'>105NorthTower</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bagels, Cormoran Strike Loves Robin Ellacott, F/M, Fontella Bass, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Jealous Cormoran Strike, Kissing in cars, Loofah of Doom, Misguided Strike, Musing, One Republic - Freeform, Post-Case, Rescue Me - Freeform, Robin SLAYS (thanks BB), Song Lyrics, Workplace, baths, protective strike</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:40:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,576</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30014058</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/105NorthTower/pseuds/105NorthTower</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin has had a bad week.</p><p>Inspired by two songs with the same title, which are going to be my book ends.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>We don't talk much, not any more<br/>Broken bottles and slammin' doors<br/>But we still care about each other<br/>Say we care about each other?</p><p>But I start to wonder, wonder<br/>If I'm slipping under, under</p><p>Rescue Me / One Republic<br/>(Ryan Tedder / Brent Kutzle)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Robin climbed into the almost-too-hot water and hopped from one foot to the other for a minute to acclimatise. When she could stand to keep her feet still, she gripped the handles at the side of the bath, and lowered herself into the froth.</p><p>As the heat penetrated her flesh and bones, smoothing away the aches caused by tiredness, and not a little despondency, she reviewed the events of the last week.</p><p>The team meeting on Monday was going well. Pat had freed everyone from surveillance, a minor miracle of scheduling when the agency was so stretched, and so everyone was meeting together for the first time in months. They reviewed all the active cases, which sparked off some useful ideas, and there was time for a good knockabout discussion about the rota. </p><p>It was then that Barclay mentioned needing more Saturday afternoons, if Pat could manage it, "so that me and Robin can do oor thaing."</p><p>Every side conversation, shuffled foot, sofa burp, paper rustle and pencil tap died suddenly away. Even the traitorous kettle chose that moment to stop boiling.</p><p>There was a silence in which all the agency's employees developed a fascination with their notes never before seen, broken by Strike's voice.</p><p>"You get the same number of Saturdays as everyone else, Barclay. Pat's always fair about it."</p><p>At least, she knew it was Strike's voice, because his lips were moving, but she'd never heard it so full of coldness and disdain.</p><p>Then a scrambled defence, which to Robin's mind, just compounded the awfulness of the error.</p><p>"I didnae mean ... it's naw like ... we just get the 'gether sometimes an' ..."</p><p>But all Barclay's attempts at explaining that they occasionally took his kids swimming while Blaire took herself off for some R&amp;R were repeatedly blocked, and Strike called the meeting to a close by lumbering, bear-like into the inner office. </p><p>Robin slid down under the water for a few seconds and resurfaced, head streaming, wiping the bubbles from her eyes. She opened the shampoo she'd bought later on Monday to cheer herself up. It promised to both clean and condition. She lathered her hair, enjoying the unusual woodsy, sap-like smell and grudgingly conceded that it might have been forty quid well spent, after all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After the team meeting.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Robin rolled onto her front in the hot water and arched her back, feeling the bones in her neck slowly give up their tension. When she rolled over again she took her bath puff and started methodically exfoliating. She tried to visualise sweeping away the detritus of this awful week as easily, and making her inner thoughts as purged and glowing as the bath was going to make her skin, but her thoughts kept returning to the aftermath of the team meeting.</p>
<p>In front of her colleagues, Robin had acted as if she expected her partner to leave just at that precise point. She wrapped up the meeting, dealt with all the questions about expenses, sent Pat off for an early lunch, asked Sam to stay behind and reassured him that she'd sort it out with Strike. </p>
<p>When Barclay was gone, she pointedly left for her surveillance, without saying goodbye, and went straight home afterwards. The next morning, she arrived thirty minutes early and, as she'd hoped, found Strike alone in the office, He was reading a file but glanced in her direction as she took off her coat. Instead of making tea for them both and sitting at her desk to chat, she stood and waited.</p>
<p>After a moment, he said, in tones of curt control, "I don't want to know about you and Barclay."</p>
<p>"That's good, because I'm not here to tell you about me and Barclay."</p>
<p>He looked up. "What, then?"</p>
<p>"You have to be better than this, Strike."</p>
<p>"Do I?"</p>
<p>"He's an employee. It isn't fair."</p>
<p>Strike tossed down the picture he'd been studying. "Actually, he's a contractor, so ..."</p>
<p>"That's ...</p>
<p>"... he has equal status ..."</p>
<p>"... horse shit! And you know it!"</p>
<p>He flicked his glance away for a moment. </p>
<p>"Don't often hear you swear. Must have hit a nerve."</p>
<p>She shook her head in disbelief. Then, in a voice containing all the discipline and froideur of certain incarnations of Ms Venetia Hall, she responded.</p>
<p>"It may be of interest to you to hear (I don't know for certain, because I think perhaps your interest in the truth is taking a back seat behind your jealousy and boorishness in this matter) that, although there is no law about the ratio of adults to children in swimming pools in this country, most local authorities require an adult swimmer for each child under eight in open sessions."</p>
<p>Strike opened his mouth, thought better of it, and shut it again.</p>
<p>"Sam may be a subcontractor, but your agreement with him specifies that he may not work for other agencies without your approval. In addition, you can end his contract by simply giving notice of such an intention. So, in reality, his status is much closer to that of an employee, and in many ways worse."</p>
<p>"You can't ..."</p>
<p>"His contract is entirely silent as regards relationships with partners, employees and other contractors working for this agency "</p>
<p>"That's not ..."</p>
<p>"Just as mine is. And yours, Strike."</p>
<p>"Look, I didn't mean to suggest ..."</p>
<p>"I don't care what you meant. You embarrassed Sam, you embarrassed me. All three of us are now the subject of gossip and speculation amongst our colleagues. Sam thinks you're going to let him go, or punch him."</p>
<p>"I'll talk to him."</p>
<p>"Do so. He's a good hire and we can't afford to lose him."</p>
<p>With that, she left to pick up her mark.</p>
<p>If that was all that had happened, Robin thought as she added bath gel to the puff, she'd have put it behind her by now and her relationship with Strike would've recovered. After all, they'd fought before and, once the air was cleared, their friendship was the better for it. Unfortunately, the incident with Sam was only the beginning. </p>
<p>Robin squeezed with her fingers and imagined the puff was a soft part of her partner's anatomy, but it didn't help. Much.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>And, there's more.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Robin left the bath puff to soak in the water and sank back, resting her head against the edge of the bath and closing her eyes. Images from the week-from-hell continued to play in her mind.</p><p>On Wednesday morning, Pat was alone in the office when Robin arrived. She checked the rota and saw Strike was meeting a new client in the West End and that she had a free/office day, followed by ... nothing.</p><p>"Pat, why am I not observing the Terry's Taxis place tonight? It's my case and I'm free."</p><p>"Michelle is doing it."</p><p>"I see that. Why am I not doing it?"</p><p>"Strike thought it best if you don't go near. In case you need to go undercover later."</p><p>"Right."</p><p>Returning to her desk, Robin was thoughtful for a while. Then she looked on the shared drive and opened up a series of spreadsheets going back over six months of work.</p><p>She quickly confirmed that she'd been on four night jobs in the past twenty-six weeks. Two of them were in a casino, to watch a gambling addict fall off the wagon and gallop through a tidy slice of his wife's inheritance. Before that, she'd been observing a potential tryst address in Leytonstone, but had been able to do so from an all-night cafe, and before that she was undercover in a bagel shop in Brick Lane, where a disgruntled female employee was suspected of introducing cannabis to a wider audience via the onion and herb flavour; apparently it went very well with cream cheese.</p><p>Robin's heart sank. There was not a breath of peril in any of these jobs. They were in public places with witnesses and the marks, whether devious, troubled or downright criminal, were not going to do her any violence. </p><p>She tried to recall the last time she'd felt in any danger. It was just before the period she was checking, perhaps seven months ago. They were hired to find the only daughter of a devout but wealthy Natha couple, whose daughter had disappeared after a much older "boyfriend" appeared in her life and introduced her to an alternative method of yoga. They'd found the man, a pimp, and kept him under surveillance 24/7 for over a week, until they were as sure as they could be that they knew all the addresses he visited.</p><p>Robin remembered every minute of the the cold night she'd spent, hunkered down under blankets in the back of the Land Rover, waiting for the man to move on, following him to the next address, and the next, praying she wouldn't be spotted. Strike had insisted she take his car on the next occasion she covered the case, because the Land Rover was too distinctive to use again.</p><p>Soon afterwards, Strike bluffed his way into the Southwark address and found the daughter, along with five other trafficked women in a state of terror, and the cavalry arrived in the shape of Wardle and some of his particular friends from Serious Organised Crime. </p><p>A week after the bust, Wardle, Strike and Robin celebrated charges being made and bail refused with a drink in The Tottenham, and after Wardle left, they'd stayed on until the pub closed. Robin had hazy memories of Strike insisting that he get her home because he thought she was "pissed as a fart" and at some point, standing on the bonnet of an abandoned vehicle, singing at the top of her voice.</p><p>"Diamond li-i-ife!"</p><p>"Ellacott, get down!"</p><p>"... lover bo-oy!"</p><p>"There's ..."</p><p>"City li-ights and business ni-ights! When you require streetcar desire for higher heights!"</p><p>"... people trying to sleep, godammit!"</p><p>"No need to ask, he's a smooth operator ..."</p><p>"Oh please, don't dance as well ..."</p><p>She didn't recall much after that, but when she woke the next morning, Strike and Max were clearing the emergency bedding from the sofa and Wolfgang had made a new best friend.</p><p>That was great for the dog, but Robin was forced to the conclusion that someone had not dismissed that night as a bit of understandable, celebratory release and revelry, as she had. A quick word with Pat confirmed her worst fears.</p><p>A small noise snapped Robin awake from her doze and she lifted her lathered head from its resting place. Nothing. She ran some more hot water into the bath which had become a bit tepid, and resumed her previous train of thought.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Things go from bad to worse.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The new warmth eddied slowly along the bath and  Robin imagined her feet being close to a roaring camp fire, while the rest of her waited in a bivvy bag for the warmth to spread. She shivered despite the water, as she recalled her conversation with Strike later that Wednesday.</p><p>Robin had extracted a promise from Pat to say nothing. She then busied herself taking care of as many mundane tasks as she could, waiting for Strike's return. After Pat left for the day, she ran out of things to do, and was seriously considering categorising the Nutter Drawer by paraphilia and style of notepaper (consideration needed to be given to whether kittens could be lumped together with all other illustrations, or really deserved a category of their own) when she heard Strike's footsteps on the steps.</p><p>She sat on the edge of her desk as he came in and said, without any preface, "You're not my father."</p><p>"Sorry?"</p><p>"I have one of those, back in Yorkshire. Thinks I'm beautiful. Wants to protect me. Drives me insane."</p><p>"OK ..."</p><p>"I also have three brothers lined up to defend my honour should anyone (except they themselves of course) piss me off. So there's no vacancies. I can't use another knight in shining armour."</p><p>"I'm not sure why you think ..."</p><p>"Why did you tell Pat to keep me off night surveillance?"</p><p>"You've been on night surveillance."</p><p>"On specific jobs you fed to her."</p><p>Strike waved his hands vaguely. "I do talk with Pat about the rota. Of course I do. That doesn't necessarily mean .. "</p><p>"I know it doesn't necessarily mean anything, Strike. But in your case, it does mean. You promised you would stop this after Mucky Ricci."</p><p>"Well ..."</p><p>"And you did, as far as I can see, until Downward Dog. So what changed?"</p><p>Strike did not seem to have a ready answer. He sat himself down and studied his own fingers, as if trying to compose a response.</p><p>Robin pressed her suit. "I want the truth."</p><p>"That case ... I suppose the night we wrapped it up, got me thinking."</p><p>"Please tell me you haven't had a relapse because I got a bit drunk and unruly?"</p><p>"No ... "</p><p>"One night! How many nights do you roll in here four sheets to the wind?"</p><p>"It wasn't that! It was ... Downward Dog. I ..."</p><p>The look on Strike's face was suddenly raw. Robin made herself be silent, to give him time to analyse his thoughts.</p><p>"I suppose I thought it would be a good idea to try and keep you safe from his sort. As far as I could."</p><p>Robin shook her head in frustration. "Those are the cases I love, Strike."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>"I don't need you to sneak about, making decisions for me, and justifying it to yourself under the heading, Keeping Robin Safe."</p><p>"Robin ..."</p><p>"Is it because you're older? Is that where this comes from? It's not because I'm female, because I don't see you shielding Michelle. You know I can do the work because we've spent the last five years doing it together. So what is it?"</p><p>He was twisting uncomfortably under her glare. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a breath, and tried again in a softer tone.</p><p>"Protection is not what I need from you."</p><p>"What do you need?" The words seem to escape him before he could pull them back. They were shockingly direct. <i>Was this it? Was this the moment that had been coming since her thirtieth birthday?</i> </p><p>"Strike, I want ..."</p><p>"Robin ... stop."</p><p>He was emotionally folding down, before her very eyes. <i>No, not again.</i></p><p>"We need to have this out, Strike. We need to level with each other."</p><p>He was gone. Present, but closed again.</p><p>"I'm sorry, OK? I'll sort it out with Pat. Now, I'm tired out, so I'm heading up. I'll see you tomorrow."</p><p>Robin allowed the water to lift her slightly as she breathed in. She recalled thinking that she did well not to go after him, not to push him when he wasn't ready.  She'd patted herself on the head for knowing better than to try and make him stay. One day, and it was likely to be soon, they would have to have the talk, she'd reasoned as she sat on the tube home. It was becoming unavoidable.</p><p>Then, as she arrived at Earls Court, Ilsa called, in tears.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>She's lost it good and proper now. Retreat to maximum safe distance.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The last bubble was long gone, and Robin knew she needed to get out of the bath. She had come to Ilsa's at her suggestion, let herself in after her Friday surveillance, run a bath like Ilsa said she could, left the bathroom door open an inch so the cats didn't scratch the paintwork trying to get in, and put a toilet roll outside the door which was their code for 'occupied.' But time was marching on, Nick or Ilsa would be home soon and she really needed to be dressed. Just five more minutes, she thought. </p><p>If she'd been angry about the rota, it was nothing compared to her rage after Ilsa had called on Wednesday. He was bang out of order, upsetting Ilsa.</p><p>Fuck Strike. Fuck everything. This couldn't go on.</p><p>Robin called the office first thing Thursday and confirmed that Strike would be parked in a cul de sac in Acton all morning. She asked Pat to free up her diary until 10:30am and set off for the Western Avenue. She parked the Land Rover around the corner, and climbed into Strike's BMW at 9:25am.</p><p>"Robin?"</p><p>"Shut up and listen."</p><p>Robin faltered a little after this strong opening. Then she remembered Ilsa's strained voice as she called to say Strike was pulling out of her birthday drinks, did Robin still want to come?</p><p>"Why are you upsetting Ilsa? If you don't want to spend an evening with me, you can say so, we can work something out. But don't upset her - all she's ever done is be over-enthusiastic about your happiness."</p><p>"Robin."</p><p>"You can't have anything to say that I want to hear right now, Strike, so just be quiet. This won't take long."</p><p>
  <i>This is it, then, Ellacott. Here goes nothing.</i>
</p><p>"I know how you feel about me, Strike."</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>"I know you better than anyone does, I think. How could I <b>not</b> know how you feel?"</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>"I understand why we skirt around it. That's fine, if that's the way you want it to be. These things feel as if they're going to burn forever while they're new, but sooner or later we'll run out of fuel. We'll have to, and we'll both move on."</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>"But it isn't OK for our stupidity to affect everyone around us. Sam, Pat, Ilsa, so far this week. Who's next?"</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>"Please. Call Ilsa and tell her you're going tonight. If you don't want me there, it's fine, I'll take her out for a cocktail at the weekend."</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>Robin risked a glance to her right and saw one of Strike's most closed expressions. Fuckity fucking fucks. She was suddenly seized by a desire to make him regret every single lonely moment of his existence from this moment forward.</p><p>Twisting in her seat, she reached for his head and held it still, while she planted a soft, sensual and lingering kiss on his mouth. He didn't move a muscle, and his face betrayed no feeling,  but when she moved back her lips seemed to draw a long, ragged breath from him. </p><p>"I love you, too. In case that was in any doubt. "</p><p>She gathered her resolve, opened the door and stepped out of the car. Then she left him there, pinned to his surveillance target like a beetle fixed to a card in a museum case, and didn't look back.</p><p>Robin was tempted to put some more hot water in the bath and just stay there for the evening, but her fingers had started to wrinkle. She took a deep breath and rinsed her hair the same way she always did, from when she was a kid:  she slid down under the water, swished her head from side to side and watched as clouds of red-gold kelp grew around her.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Suddenly there was a clatter, the deadened sound of the door flying open and hitting the shower cubicle, and two shirted arms reached into the water and pulled her out of the bath and up against a broad chest.</p><p>Robin took in a mouthful of soapy water which she then coughed up on Strike's chest.</p><p>"WHAT are you DOING?"</p><p>Strike looked stricken. "Rescuing you?"</p><p>"And out of the two of us right now, you think I'm the one that needs rescuing, is that right?"</p><p>"I don't know. This is not my best week ever."</p><p>"You're telling me. What are you rescuing me from? The Loofah of Doom?"</p><p>"I thought ... you were under ... do you know how many people drown accidentally in the bath each year?"</p><p>"No, I don't. How many, Strike?"</p><p>"Loads."</p><p>"Hard to argue with such an impressive grasp of the statistics."</p><p>Strike's hold on her started to slacken.</p><p>"No, don't you let go of me, Strike. I'm stark bloody naked. Eyes front!" </p><p>His arms drew a little tighter again, around her middle. She was pressed close against him, more from modesty than desire, although when his glance flicked down towards the upper slopes of her breasts, a jolt of the latter reached all the way to her toes.</p><p>"Right, well - " Strike's attempt to sound business-like seemed to be hard won. "We can't stay like this. Ilsa's home soon. She's going to read things into it. You know how her imagination runs away."</p><p>"Can you reach my towel?"</p><p>"No, not unless I shuffle ..."</p><p>"We're not shuffling with your leg. This floor is lethal when it's wet."</p><p>"What if promised to look away?"</p><p>"Can I trust you not to ogle?'</p><p>"Of course!"</p><p>Robin pouted. "Well, that's disappointing."</p><p>He sighed and rested his forehead against hers. "OK ... no."</p><p>"No?"</p><p>"That's what I said."</p><p>"Cormoran Strike. Are you saying you fancy your work partner? How foolish!"</p><p>"Yup."</p><p>"Self-indulgent ..."</p><p>"Totally."</p><p>"... amazing and wonderful to hear."</p><p>"If I promise not to look while you get your towel ..."</p><p>"Hmm ..."</p><p>"Will you come straight back so I can kiss you like I wanted to yesterday?"</p><p>"I think we do that first."</p><p>He hesitated and then brushed his mouth against hers. There was an aching moment when she felt his breath in her throat and then he became insistent, invading, and full of intent - like he could pleasure all of her just with one kiss.</p><p>She laughed as he drew back a little. "You're good at being foolish."</p><p>"It's often said."</p><p>"OK, I'm away to get my towel now. No looking."</p><p>"Hmm."</p><p> "In three ..."</p><p>"... two ..."</p><p>"... one ..."</p><p>She slipped out of his arms and turned, feeling his fingers trail over her damp flesh, perfectly well aware that his eyes were following her as she sashayed across the room.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Come on and take my heart<br/>Take your love and conquer every part<br/>'Coz I'm lonely and I'm blue<br/>I need you and your love too</p><p>Come on and rescue me</p><p>Rescue Me / Fontella Bass<br/>(Carl William Smith/Raynard Miner/Fontella Bass)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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